The man scowled, made an obscene gesture, and turned in the opposite direction.
Alexa had hardly ever met anyone Mark worked with, so it surprised her. She looked at her husband, but he laughed it off.
“I had to let him go last week,” he said. For the first time, Alexa realized just how poorly Mark’s job suited his personality.
Mark consulted businesses through their rough patches, and, more often than not, through bankruptcy proceedings. Firing employees who had never worked for him was a daily task. He and Alexa had never stayed in one place longer than six months since they’d been married, but it was only ever a few days before each group of employees would begin calling him the “axe man,” believing they were the only ones clever enough to come up with it.
Alexa wondered what other names they thought up for her precious husband. They drove home in silence, but when Mark sat on the couch in front of the TV, she said, “Do you like your job?”
“What do you think?” he replied without malice. “Everybody hates me, every company I go to is fundamentally broken, and on top of it all, I’ve taken you away from your family and never give you enough time to get settled in before we move on to something else. Last winter we were in Miami, two years ago it was Oregon, this time it’s Illinois.”
“I had no idea,” she said. Alexa could work from anywhere as a freelance writer and editor, and her earnings bridged the gaps between Mark’s jobs, but, unless she had some in-person interviews to conduct, it was lonely in the house all day. When she thought her small measure of prosperity might come at the cost of noticing how miserable her husband was, she began to cry.
“I fell into this job and it keeps us in the black and allows you to pursue your writing passion, but I’d rather do something less destructive,” he admitted.
They held each other awkwardly but sincerely amidst the cushions and murmured how they might finally start a family if they could just settle down for a while.
The next morning, after sending him off with a coffee, a kiss, and the feeling he was going to the executioner — possibly another name the other employees had for him — Alexa clicked on Mark’s résumé and scanned all the job boards she could think of for matches.
* * *
On December twenty-first, Alexa fell flat on the couch and caught the scent of pine needles from a holiday candle on the coffee table. She turned her aching neck to stare at the plastic Christmas tree they’d set up this year with real candy canes and cheap lights. Her heirloom ornaments were in storage with her parents in Boston to protect them from the constant travel, but she missed them.
She had just completed the hundredth online job application since she’d started that day in November. On all of them, she’d signed her husband’s name. The lights blurred with her weariness and she closed her burning eyes.
Coolness swept about her, strangely fragranced with berries and spices. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in a meadow surrounded by snow-laden evergreens. The only sound was the crystalline patter of snowflakes. Alexa felt revived, but soon wished she had sunglasses. The snowy field made her eyes ache more than staring at a computer screen all day.
The light changed, darkened, as if in answer to her thoughts. The snow kept falling at the same rate, with the same peaceful silence, but the sky became black, then changed again. In the flickering light, Alexa made out a shape in the clearing. It was about the size of a person, and when the light was strong enough, she could see that it wore a long red cloak. The light was gone before she could discern whether it was man or woman, black or white. The next dawning showed her a long, white beard. She took a few steps back in amazement. It couldn’t truly be…
“Dear Santa,” she said.
“That’s how you started your letter to me,” he answered.
The light was steady now, but as they moved closer to each other in the falling snow, all Alexa noticed was the kindness in his eyes.
“My letter to you? I’ve been writing job applications for a month now, nothing else.”
“I got them, express delivery,” he said. “You wrote them with so much faith and love that they became letters to me. You didn’t write those cover letters and fill out those forms for yourself, but for the man you love most in all the world, to make his life better, to be closer to your family and to start your own. In your letters, you described the most deserving human being who ever tried to get a job, and there was no deception in your words. You believe in your husband above all others and your only self-interest lay in your desire for you both to be happy.”
Alexa felt what he said to be true, but agreeing with such a flattering portrait of herself seemed impolite. They stood only inches apart now, and she felt waves of comforting warmth emanating from his cloak and his red cheeks. After a moment of knowing silence between them, Santa Claus continued.
“Because you’ve earned it, and for no other reason, I’ve decided to provide you with all the unspoken wishes on your unwritten list.”
Could it be true? Could the years of travel and hard work end up with a stable job near family? She couldn’t believe it.
Santa Claus smiled at her, then turned away. When he was nearly to the trees, he tossed something away from himself that Alexa hadn’t noticed he’d been carrying. It nestled deep into the freezing snow to be covered where no one would find it again.
It was an axe.
Back on the couch, Alexa woke to the sound of jingling bells — the ones they hung on the door to make a festive sound with all their comings and goings. Along with a glacial draft, Mark came breezing in.
He had the air of contentment he usually wore when it was his last day of work at any given place, but there was something else, too. Alexa sat up to get a better look. His mouth was twisted into a bemused smile.
“I just got the strangest call,” he said. “Someone wanted me to go for an interview in Boston right after the holiday. I haven’t sent my résumé to anyone, and this company isn’t even in trouble.”
Alexa went to give him a hug and kiss. “But you said you’d go, right?”
“Of course. I know when to take an opportunity.”
“That’s my smart love.” She kissed him again and he returned the love ten times. “Merry Christmas, darling,” she said. “You can thank me and Santa after they offer you the job.”
The End
TOMMY’S GIFT
James J. Murray
A hospital staff member brought Tommy up to the eighth floor from the daycare center. He asked to go to the bathroom but promised that he would go to his mom’s room immediately after. The aide considered the six-year old’s request, smiled and nodded, then let go of his hand. As the boy disappeared behind the door, the aide pressed the elevator button. When it arrived, she left the floor.
Tommy came out of the bathroom and rubbed wet hands on his pants. He rounded the corner to head down the hall when he heard his mom’s name mentioned. He stopped and turned.
Although spoken in what his mom would call an indoor voice, the man’s words bounced off the barren walls like radar off metal. Since Tommy was not as tall as the nursing station’s countertop, no one noticed as he crept closer to hear why his mom was the topic of conversation.
In response to a muted question, the deep voice answered, “The latest scans show new growths. I don’t see much hope.”
A muted response and then the man said, “She’s already called someone, supposed to arrive today.”
Tommy heard the echo of footsteps on the hard floor behind the counter. He slid back until the footsteps faded, then continued on his journey to see his mom.
He pushed open the door to her room, careful to be quiet in case his mom was sleeping. She slept a lot since coming to the hospital.
She was awake, however. She was talking to the nun who often took him to the daycare center each morning.
When his mom saw him, she managed a weak smile. “Tommy, Sister Imelda tells me you’re being a good boy, going to the c
enter when asked and eating everything on your plate.”
Sister Imelda looked from the hospital bed to the small cot next to it and added, “And he goes to bed without prompting. I know you’re proud of him. We should tell—”
“Sister…not yet…tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.”
The nun pursed her lips and folded her hands, one over the other. “I’m not sure it’s wise to—“
“I’m not feeling wise today, and I’m very tired. Maybe later.”
Sister Imelda looked to the side and Tommy noticed that her chin trembled slightly. He followed her gaze to a plant that one of his mom’s friends had brought to the hospital the day before.
Her focus shifted from the plant to Tommy. “Your mom should rest now. I’m going to the chapel. Would you like to come with me?”
His mom gave Sister Imelda a worried look. “Tomorrow…”
“Yes, tomorrow. For today, we’ll pray…and hope.” Tommy noticed that Sister brushed a hand over his mom’s cheek as she said, “Come, Tommy, let’s talk to God.”
Tommy never remembered talking to God. He didn’t even know where God was. He had been to church once a few Christmases ago with his mother and the boyfriend she was dating at the time. That man said God lived in church, but Tommy never saw God, only another man dressed in a colorful robe. Tommy liked and trusted Sister Imelda. Maybe she would know where God lived.
The nun laced her fingers around his small hand and together they walked down the hall, into the elevator and down to the hospital’s lobby. They crossed the space to heavy double doors. She pushed one open and gestured for him to enter. He followed as she led the way to the front pew.
She slowly bent down on one knee, brought a fisted hand to her chest and bowed her head. She then moved into the first pew and invited Tommy to sit next to her.
He noticed the slight tremble in her chin again and wondered if she was tired. His mother sometimes did that after a long day at the office when she helped her boss handle all the things that he didn’t have time to do.
Finally, Sister Imelda said, “Since it’s Christmas Eve, I have a story to tell you. It’s about that beautiful plant your mom was given, the one from her friends at the office. It’s called a poinsettia. It’s a magical plant that blooms with lovely red leaves.”
“Why is it magical?”
“There’s a legend about it that originates in Mexico, where I come from. It’s about a child named Pepita. She was so poor that she had no gift for the baby Jesus at her church on Christmas Eve. Her cousin Pedro tried to cheer her up by saying that no matter how small the gift, if it was given with love, Jesus would always accept it.”
“My mom told me about baby Jesus. He came to save the world.”
“And he continues to do that every day, Tommy, as Pepita found out. You see she could only find a few flowered weeds by the side of the road to make a small bouquet. Even though her gift was small, she laid the flowers next to the nativity scene in the church. Suddenly, the weeds burst into brilliant red leaves to the amazement and joy of all.”
“Was Pepita surprised?”
“She was. And forever after, she and her beautiful plant became symbols of hope for that poor village. They even named the plant ‘Flowers of the Holy Night’.” Sister Imelda wrapped an arm around Tommy and added, “That plant symbolizes hope—hope that it will bloom each Christmas and bring joy and good fortune to all who look at its brilliant leaves. It’s that sort of hope that we should focus on in life. Do you understand?”
When Tommy seemed confused, she added, “You must learn to see the good in your life and in the world. Bad things happen, but they often do so for a reason.”
Still confused, but not wanting to show that he wasn’t smart, he responded, “That’s why I try to be good. Mommy has a big job that makes her sad sometimes. She says I’m the best thing in her life, so I always try to make her happy.”
Satisfied with his answer, Sister Imelda stood abruptly, smiled and rubbed his head gently. “You’ll make a fine young man. Now it’s time for dinner. Go wash up and I’ll bring in some food.”
Tommy rushed back to his mom’s room and noticed that she was still asleep. He silently entered the bath that connected to her room, washed up and then sat in a chair next to her bed to wait for dinner.
A gentle knock on the door signaled the arrival of their meals and Sister Imelda helped a food service aide bring in two trays. Sister gently shook his mother’s shoulder. “Dinner is here. You must eat.”
A weak nod showed that she understood and pushed herself up on the pillow slowly. She smiled at Tommy as he sat on the bed next to her, his food sharing the bed dolly that also held her tray of semi-solid nourishment. As they ate, Sister Imelda and the aide left.
After a few minutes, Tommy noticed that his mom had fallen asleep. She often did that during a meal, but he knew that she would awaken soon and take a few more bites.
He looked at the plant with the red leaves and remembered Sister Imelda’s story of its magical power. He was surprised to see that many more leaves had turned a rich red color since he’d last seen it. He wondered if his being a good boy made the plant bloom.
He ran from the room to find Sister Imelda—to tell her about the miracle that was happening. He rushed up to the nurses’ station but stopped when he heard angry words spoken.
“No, I want a real church to pray in, not some meditation room. God lives in a church, not in four walls carved from a hospital lobby. My husband’s sick. I need to pray for his health. Where is the nearest church?”
Tommy listened to the words and the directions. It seemed that a church where God lived was just down the block. Maybe if he brought the magical plant to God as a gift, both his mom and that woman’s husband would be well again.
He rushed back to his mom’s room, gently opened the door and looked in. She was still asleep. He went to the nightstand and picked up the plant. It was small enough that he thought he could carry it down the block without much effort. He held the plant close to his chest and ran from the room.
Tommy took the elevator to the lobby. He walked out of the hospital and down the street toward the church. He didn’t notice the woman walking past him into the hospital or the fact that she looked so much like his mother.
* * *
Margaret walked up to the nurses’ station and asked, “Can you direct me to Madeline Morgan’s room?”
“She’s having dinner now. Are you a relative?”
“I’m Margaret Johnson, her sister. She called me yesterday, said she’s very sick and needed me. I came as soon as I could.”
“Yes, Dr. Lawrence said she’d called someone. Are you here to take care of the boy?”
“What boy? Madeline has a son?”
“You didn’t know?”
A moment of indecision passed before she responded. “My sister left town long ago with someone our family didn’t approve of. We’d lost touch. She apparently kept up with my life, however, because she called me yesterday out of the blue, said she was sick and needed her family, said she tried to call our parents.” Margaret sighed before adding, “She didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“That they both died last year. I didn’t know how to contact her. I didn’t realize she was only two hours away until yesterday.”
“And she didn’t tell you about her son?”
“When she called…well, I didn’t give her a chance. I was so angry that she’d never let me know where she was. I yelled some, and she cried some. That’s when I realized something was terribly wrong. She said she was sick and needed me.” She frowned and then asked, “How sick is she?”
“The doctor will have to answer those questions, but it’s serious.”
“Serious enough to need help with her son…my nephew?”
“His name is Tommy, but…yes, she probably will need help with him. He’s having dinner with her now. I could walk down with you, introduce you to him.”
�
�No, but thank you. I’ll be fine. What room is she in?”
Margaret walked down to the room and slowly opened the door. She walked softly over to the bed and was shocked to see what was left of her twin sister lying there. Strands of hair had fallen out onto the pillow and the dark circles around her eyes revealed the therapeutic abuse her body had taken.
She stood there silently for several moments studying her sister and then realized that Madeline was staring back at her. Margaret touched her throat as if startled, recovered and managed to say, “It’s me. I came like you asked.”
Madeline recognized her and smiled slightly. “Is that what I used to look like?” She let the smile fade. “I was hoping you would come. I’m so sorry for all those years—”
“That doesn’t matter now. I’m here to help. I want to reconnect and to do whatever you need. What do the doctors say?”
“Cancer…stage four…little hope…maybe six months. I have something to ask you.”
“I know, the boy…Tommy. I just heard about him. Why didn’t you ever…?”
“Too ashamed. I left everyone behind for someone who finally left me behind. Now it’s only Tommy and me.”
Margaret looked around the room. “Where is Tommy now? I was told he was with you.”
Madeline shrugged weakly and looked at the dishes on the tray. “Sister Imelda probably took him back to the care center. He’s a regular there now since…”
“What type of cancer?”
“Breast cancer, but it’s spreading. I hope I can count on you to—“
“Oh you can, but much more than you realize. Who’s your doctor? I need to talk to him.”
Margaret then hurried to the nurses’ station and asked to see Dr. Lawrence. A nurse explained that he was down the hall consulting with a patient, but that she would let him know as soon as possible that a patient’s relative wanted to speak with him.
A World of Joy Page 6